


A Late Night Vending Machine Battle

by slpblue



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, let's play spot the pete cameo, spencer like gets in a mini fight with a vending machine in the middle of the night, this is really cute okay i was like smiling a bunch when i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:26:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6816649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slpblue/pseuds/slpblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Spencer wanted was a Snickers bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Late Night Vending Machine Battle

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is really short but I thought it was cute so enjoy ^^

_Okay,_ thinks Spencer, staring at the screen of his computer. _Okay. Yeah I need a break._ He really does. The cursor has been blinking halfway through a sentence for the past hour, it’s nearly one in the morning, he can’t remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep, and trying to write this essay is pretty pointless when his brain is half--make that three quarters--dead.

He rises from his desk, joints popping, and pokes his head out into the hallway. The lights are dim and there isn’t a single sound coming from behind any of the other doors in the dorm. Everyone else must be asleep, like how he’s supposed to be. Spencer sighs as he eases the door shut behind him. He’s halfway down the hall before he realizes that, right, vending machines need money, and he turns around with a soft curse.

It takes a few minutes of digging around through discarded jeans and peering under the bed but Spencer finally finds a crumpled up dollar and heads back out again, smoothing it against his thigh. He almost doesn’t go, wondering if the prospect of a Snickers is really worth it, but then he realizes that this is a Snickers he’s talking about here, of course it’s worth it.

The carpet is scratchy under Spencer’s bare feet, and he stifles a yawn as he nears the vending machine. Of course, _now_ is the time he starts to feel sleepy.

Carefully, Spencer lines up the dollar with the slot and pushes it in. The machine sucks in the money greedily, decides that it doesn’t like the taste, then spits it back out. “C’mon,” Spencer mutters. “Not now, please.” He pushes the bill back in. The vending machine spits it out.

It takes some wrestling with the vending machine, some meticulous unfolding of the tiny dog-ears on the corners of the dollar, and a bit of impromptu decreasing against the corner of the machine before the damned thing finally takes the money. “Thank god,” Spencer sighs, then stabs at the plastic buttons, eager for his chocolate bar.

He watches as the coil holding the row of Snickers bars rotates in a lazy circle. Almost...there...and then--it stops. Spencer stares. “No,” he whispers. “No, no nonononono--” he shakes the machine. That was his last dollar! When shaking doesn’t work, he gives it a frustrated kick, forgetting he’s not wearing any shoes. It’s really painful.

He’s hopping around, trying not to fall over and cursing at the machine for taking his last dollar, when a sleepy voice asks, “Are you okay?”

Now Spencer does fall over. “Fuck,” he swears, peering up at whoever startled him. His heart skips a beat when he sees him.

He’s hot, really hot, thin and muscled and _not wearing a shirt_ , pajama pants slung low on his hips. He’s got a really, _really_ defined v-line that Spencer’s only ever seen on like, fucking models before or something, and the cutest flop of dark hair.

Realizing he should probably say something, Spencer scrambles to his feet, wincing at the momentary spark of pain in his little toe. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” He’s suddenly terribly self-conscious of his old, ratty sweatpants and his overly large and rumpled t-shirt. “Vending machine ate my last dollar.” He jerks his head at the offending piece of technology, and the hot guy nods seriously. God, Spencer thinks, no one should be allowed to be this attractive.

“That the one you were trying to get?” he asks, pointing out the nearly free Snickers bar.

Spencer nods. “Yeah.”

The guy hums thoughtfully, then reaches out to shake the machine.

"I already tried that,” Spencer sighs when it doesn’t work.

The guy shoots him a grin that Spencer is only halfway sure he’s imagining is flirtatious, and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you your midnight snack.” He drops to his knees, sliding his hand through the slot at the bottom and reaching for the chocolate bar, fingers just brushing the bottom of it. The guy smashes his face into the glass trying to reach it, knocking his glasses askew. “I almost got it,” he grunts, twisting his wrist in an attempt to reach the candy.

“It’s okay,” Spencer says, trying not to stare too much, “you don’t have--it’s okay. I don’t really need it anyway.”

The guy turns his brown eyes, wide in sincerity, upon him. “Dude, it was your _last_ dollar. This is important. And besides,” he grins, “at this point if you’re not going to eat it I will.”

Spencer laughs at that, and the guy’s eyes crinkle up at the edges. He goes back to trying to reach the chocolate bar, slamming his hand against the front of the vending machine. “Come on,” he cajoles, “just a little farther…” His fingertips snag the edge of the chocolate bar and it tumbles to the bottom. “Got it!” he cries triumphantly, handing Spencer the Snickers bar with his other hand.

“Thanks,” Spencer says shyly, because this dude is looking at him in a way that can be taken as no other than flirty and he’s pretty sure he’s blushing like crazy.

“No problem,” the guy replies, then moves as if to pull his arm out. His arm stops moving after about an inch, however, and he curses. “Shit. I think I’m stuck.” He gives Spencer a sheepish grin.

Spencer can’t help the giggle that slips past his lips. “Of course you are,” he says, trying to keep his composure.

“Hey stop laughing and help me out,” the guy says crossly, but he’s smiling and Spencer knows he’s not really mad.

“Okay,” Spencer agrees, fighting back another wave of laughter. He sets down his chocolate and puts his hands on the guy’s arm, only realizing how cold his hands are when they come into contact with the warm skin. The guy sucks in a breath. “Oh god, I’m sorry,” Spencer apologizes, drawing his hands away.

“No, it’s fine,” the guy says. He shoots him a smile. “Your hands are just really cold.”

Spencer laughs nervously, peering into the vending machine’s opening to see if there’s a way to get his arm free. “Oh,” he says, sticking his hand as well. “You just need to push the flap…”

“Careful, don’t want you getting stuck too.”

“I think I’m smart enough to not get my arm stuck in a vending machine,” Spencer teases, pressing against the swinging door of the opening. “Okay, try pulling your arm out now.”

The guy’s arm comes free without a problem, and he rubs at the red mark left by the pressure of the little door. “Thanks,” he says, grinning up at Spencer.

Spencer shakes his head and bursts out laughing again, more intensely than before. “I can’t--can’t believe you got--you got your arm stuck in--the vending machine,” he gasps around his laughter. It’s too much. He’s had too little sleep and this is way too funny, and he collapses onto the ground next to the guy, unable to keep quiet. At first the brunet looks concerned, but soon enough he’s descended into giggles as well. “It is pretty ridiculous,” he agrees, torso shaking with his mirth.

Their laughter dies away, then they make eye contact and break out in it again. Someone a few doors down sticks his head out. “Hey, dumbasses,” he says from behind a mop of flat-ironed black hair, “shut the fuck up it’s the middle of the fucking night.”

“Sorry,” the guy next to Spencer calls, voice a bit choked from holding back laughter. Spencer shoves his fist in his mouth to keep quiet; he’s nearly crying at this point.

The black-haired guy grumbles something incoherent and shuts his door again, and almost instantly they’re laughing again, gasping for breath. Tears leak from the corners of Spencer’s eyes, and the guy has one hand on the floor to keep himself steady. Their arms brush together, and Spencer can feel the warmth of his skin even through his t-shirt.

Spencer is holding his side from where the laughter has him in stitches, and the guy has almost fallen over by the time he reaches out to Spencer to quiet him. 

“Shhh-hhh,” he whispers, putting a finger to Spencer’s lips. He’s still being obnoxiously loud himself, which just makes Spencer laugh more. God, he needs some sleep. “You’ll wake up the whole dorm, and that guy’ll come out here and get mad again.”

As Spencer’s laughter subsides, he becomes acutely aware of the fact that the hot guy’s finger is still pressed to his mouth, and he can feel his face heating up again. The guy pulls back with a coy grin. “You done?”

“What--yeah, yes. Yeah. Um,” Spencer grabs his Snickers bar and tears open the wrapper, then holds it out. “You want some? I mean, you did help me get it out, and without you I’m pretty sure I’d still be staring at it willing to fall. You’ve got longer arms than me. ‘Cause I really wanted some chocolate, I mean that essay wasn’t going anywhere and there wasn’t much point to trying to write when I was just going to stare at the screen for the rest of the night so--so, yeah, thanks. For helping.” He needs to shut up now, oh god, the guy is just staring at him with his big brown eyes and Spencer thinks _that’s it, you just fucked up your only chance, nice job man,_ before the guy leans forward. Spencer watches, completely still, as he takes the end of the Snickers bar in his mouth and bites off the end of it. He chews slowly, eyes locked with Spencer’s. Spencer can feel his face heating up; he’s pretty sure at any second now he’s going to spontaneously combust.

“Thanks,” the guy says at last, giving a sly grin.

"Yeah,” Spencer squeaks. “No problem.” Belatedly, he realizes he still has his hand out, and he sets it down with a heavy thump. “Erm, so I’m Spencer. Thanks for helping. Again. Yeah.”

The guy laughs, fully, not those stifled giggles from before, and it’s the most beautiful sound Spencer’s ever heard. “You’re welcome, Spencer. I’m Brendon.”

“Nice to meet you, Brendon,” Spencer says, sticking out the hand not holding his partially eaten chocolate bar.

“The pleasure’s mine,” Brendon says with a flourish, taking Spencer’s hand. Instead of shaking it like Spencer expects him to, however, he brings it up to his lips and gives the back of his hand a kiss. Spencer’s pretty sure he’s going to swoon because _holy shit_ Brendon has the softest, plumpest, most perfect lips ever that anyone’s ever had, has, or will have goodbye, no contest, end of story.

“Um,” he says eloquently. He’s pretty sure that he’s gotten even redder, if that’s possible.

Brendon just grins at him. “I’m in room 203,” he says jerking his thumb over his bare shoulder, “if you ever need me.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says faintly. “Yeah. Um, I’m in 215. If--if you ever need me.”

Brendon bites his lip in amusement and Spencer’s pretty sure he passes out for a second. “I’m sure I will. Never know when we’ll have to work together to get midnight snacks out of stingy vending machines again.” He stands, and Spencer is only just able to keep the noise of protest from making it past his lips when Brendon lets go of his hand.

“See you around, Spence. Thanks for the candy.” He gives a little half wave and starts off down the hallway. “Goodnight, sleep tight!”

“Goodnight,” Spencer calls weakly. God, he’s already got a nickname for him and everything. He leans his head back against the vending machine and watches the sway of Brendon’s hips as he saunters down to his room. He shoots him a wink before closing the door behind him, not nearly as fazed about being stared at as Spencer is at being caught staring.

"Holy shit,” Spencer mutters, taking a bite from his Snickers and then realizing that his mouth has just touched somewhere Brendon’s mouth had touched. He nearly passes out again.

He’s not too sure how he makes it back to his room, but he must have walked there because he’s flopping down onto his bed now, staring up at the ceiling, crumpled Snickers wrapper in hand. His essay sits forgotten on his desk, cursor still blinking halfway through that same sentence. He can’t get Brendon’s smile out of his head, his laugh, his fucking _abs,_ damn. How about the way he had _kissed his hand?_ And seemed to be _into him?_ An actual, honest-to-god _hot guy_ seemed _interested in Spencer._

“Holy shit,” he repeats. He thinks he might be in love.

And then he’d told him where his room was? As though he wanted Spencer to come by sometime? This was too good to be true. And to think that he’d almost decided to not get the Snickers bar.

A huge grin stretches across Spencer’s face, so wide it almost hurts. What if Brendon wants to _go out_ with him? This night keeps getting better. Even the thought of his half-written essay, due in a week, can’t bring him down. The tension leaves his body, and he drifts off to sleep, crinkled Snickers wrapper falling gently to the floor. The last thought Spencer has before he drifts off is, _thank god for shitty vending machines._


End file.
